


COUNTDOWN

by thaitea



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Existential Crisis, Fuinjutsu, Here we go, Reincarnation, SI OC is basically just a reincarnated OC tag at this point, Second Shinobi War, Self-Insert, Third Shinobi War, War, fumiko is a mood, kinda not really, we're all fucked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-06-22 13:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thaitea/pseuds/thaitea
Summary: My plans to be a civilian were ruined before I was even born.





	1. Why Not?

“You’re not scared of shinobi, are you, Fumiko?”

I look at him. A small psych eval wasn’t the worst thing, I suppose. I guess even the Academy knows there’s something wrong with me.

“No,” I say, “Papa’s a shinobi, and I’m not scared of Papa.” I am.

The sensei from the Academy smiles lightly. He’s treating me like a four-year-old, patronizing and sweet. Maybe he knows something. Maybe he doesn’t.

“I bet you’re not scared of anything,” he whispers to me conspiratorially. I flash a saccharine smile.

“Maybe spiders.” _Waking up. Ninja. This entire goddamn world._

“Fumiko,” he says in an undertone, how would you like to be a shinobi, like your otousan?”

I give him my first real smile since waking up here.

* * *

 

When I woke up, I thought I had finally snapped. I thought I was insane.

Maybe I am.

 

* * *

 “I don’t want to go to the Academy next week,” I tell Mama.

I shudder when she glares at me. The Hyuuga’s all-white eyes are nothing compared to her violet stare. Miyazaki Ichika’s anger is widely feared, even though she’s technically a civilian.

“Why not, Fumiko?” she asks. We both know I’m smart enough to go, even at the tender age of four. It’s hard to hide my intelligence from her observant eyes. She’d always been accommodating to my quest for information. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had civilian parents. Would they be unnerved by their strange baby, who alternated between staring blankly at nothing and wailing for hours?  Who tracked their every movement and word with bright eyes? Luckily for me, I’d gotten a medical-nin and a ninja-turned-baker for my parents. Nobody else knew that last part, though.

“Don’t wanna be a ninja,” I complain, sticking my lower lip out. Acting like a toddler comes naturally, now. 

Mama’s unwavering gaze makes me lower my head in consternation.“You know why you have to be trained,” Mama rebukes sternly. It’s bullshit. I’ve had chakra control exercises and physical conditioning since I could walk. Mama says she’ll only help me with my kekkei genkai when I’m in the Academy, but we both know it’s Papa that really wants me to be a ninja, just like him.

“Fine,” I relent, inwardly resolving to drop out at the first opportunity and go to civilian school. I fear pain too much to be a ninja. A decent one, anyway.

“Good girl,” Mama says, ruffling my hair. “Don’t draw too much attention to yourself, okay?” I’ll have enough as it is, entering the academy at such a young age.

“I’ll try.” She doesn’t have to tell me twice. Being a genius would fuck up my entire second life.

Mama smiles at me and goes back to grilling dango. It’s my cue to continue washing the column of dirty dishes next to me. I’ve positioned myself on the edge of the sink in order to get them all, since it’s taller than I am.

I love helping Mama’s bakery, but washing dishes makes me die a little inside. Every time I think I’m almost finished, another stack of plates finds its way on top of the column.

It’s not real, I remind myself. I don’t want to die again quite yet, but this is anything but real. I’m surrounded by characters in a fictional world, dreamed up by an actual person; flat, 2-D animated beings, lacking consciousness and personality of their own. I am the only thing that I can trust truly exists in this universe; my experiences are the only ones I’ve ever had, so I am the only certain factor.

I’ve immersed myself in this world so much that sometimes, when Papa reads to me or when Mama makes me my favorite sweets, it’s hard to remember that.

I look up just as more plates are dropped off. The column sways precariously. “Fuck,” I groan.

* * *

 “Fumiko-chan,” I distantly hear a voice snap. “Miyazaki Fumiko.” It’s too early to be dealing with all of this. I wearily look up from my arms at Hideki-sensei’s face, blinking groggily. Someone giggles.

The Academy so far has been incredibly boring. I already know how to read and write, thanks. It’s school, just with chakra control, weapons, and a lot more exercise. A lot more. Plus the insane amount of propaganda crammed into our tiny minds. Like the other kids from ninja families, I didn’t pay attention during the civvie classes. Practicing throwing kunai was so much more practical than relearning how to multiply fractions. But for someone like Minoru Hideki, I’m the epitome of a lazy waste of space. Since he can’t exactly target the clan kids, he focuses more on the less politically important. Like me.

“Detention!” Hideki-sensei hisses triumphantly. Okay then. I go back to sleep and wait for the lunch bell to ring.

At lunch, I’ve somehow managed to surround myself with clan children. It attracts the attention that I so desperately attempt to avoid, but at this point, I don’t know how to get out of it without offending some of the most prominent clans in Konoha.

I always bring bakery leftovers, things that can’t be sold: asymmetrical daifuku, oddly shaped jellies, unevenly colored anpan. On the first day, I ended up giving half of it to Akimichi Shito, who happily brought over Nara Suzaku and Yamanaka Akio. Sitting with the Ino-Shika-Cho trio was bad enough, but then. The Uchihas.

Apparently, Uchiha Yakumi and Hazuki have some of the biggest sweet-tooths _ever._ “Teyaki-ojisan and Uruchi-obasan own a senbei shop,” Hazuki informed me through a mouthful of dango. “We can go there sometime.”

And, well, once I was sitting with the five of them, we couldn’t leave out the _future Aburame clan head._ “We should invite him over,” Suzaku advised, not looking away from the clouds. Better not exclude the Aburame; they were scary as fuck. Aburame Shibi manages to stoically eat mochi like no other.

Of course, Yakumi’s ‘rival’, Hyuuga Tokuma, decided that if the other major clans were sitting together, he’d better be invited too. With him came Hyuuga Iroha, whose serious demeanor balanced out Tokuma’s penchant for laughing at everything. Mainly Yakumi. The competition between Tokuma and Yakumi made me want to jump off a cliff, but Iroha’s deadpan comments made it worth it.

Sometimes I forget that they’re children. They’re painfully aware of their clan’s expectations, and accordingly look flawless. They excel at the Academy, having been trained since they were young. They tower over me, too, which certainly doesn’t help. But sometimes I’m painfully reminded just how young they are.

“Ten!” Yakumi cried, triumphantly stuffing another piece of dango in his mouth. Tokuma growls, and Iroha obediently puts a dango piece into Tokuma’s mouth, his normally aristocratic features distorted by his bulging cheeks. Yakumi manages to look as lovely as ever. The Uchiha genes really are amazing. Even fiercely narrowed eyes and a mouth stuffed with dango, Yakumi still manages to look flawless. Hazuki sighs, muttering about how the competition was a disgrace to the Uchiha clan. Ironic, really, considering he was on his fifth red bean pastry.

“Hey, Fumiko,” Akio says, unblinking even as Shito accidentally gets dango sauce in his silky blond hair, “Did you hear what sensei said about tomorrow?”

“Nope,” I reply with half-lidded eyes. Mama has me doing taijutsu drills, and my four-year-old body doesn’t have the stamina to freely do both them _and_ the exercises at the Academy. Besides, I still don't know how to talk to children. I mostly try to keep a straight face and speak only when necessary. 

“Tests,” Akio sighs. Which means our first actual class rankings. Fuck. I’m one of the best at chakra control in my class, but I’ve been making sure my homework looks like a average child’s. I know I should at least try to make sure I get below 80%, but some part of me still smarts at the thought of not trying my best. I originally thought I could pretend to be mediocre, but hiding my intelligence is _painful._

I groan loudly and plop my head on the grass. The sounds of children playing ninja are accompanied by the low hum of Shibi’s content kikaichu, and the sun forms halos on the people around me. It’s the perfect opportunity for a nap.

“We’ll do fine,” Shito placates. “It’s simple, anyway.”

Suzaku shifts his head to Akio’s lap. “The rankings don’t even matter that much,” he complains. “We’re all going to pass, anyway. We literally can’t fail unless we suddenly become physically incapable of movement.”

It was true. The academic side, when it came down to it, didn’t really matter this year. We were all going to move up a year regardless of how we did. The worst that would happen if someone failed the test was remedial classes or a parent-teacher conference.

“Troublesome,” Suzaku mutters. I silently agree.

* * *

 

I don’t know how I went through my past life without chakra. It seems impossible, now, to not have chakra enhancing my movements. I can’t imagine how slow I must’ve been.

“Alright, stop,” Mama says, and I collapse, panting heavily. The instinct to dodge is integral to survival, but it’s a bitch to train.

“Mama,” I say after I get my breath back, “Our first tests are tomorrow.” She hums noncommittally. “I was wondering if I…” I trailed off, unsure how to phrase my request. _Can I actually try and get a good score_ sounds so terrible. “If I could try and be top kunoichi. I could enter the Medic Corps, like Papa. I could help a lot of people!” I might have overdone it a bit.

Doing well at the Academy might attract a bit of attention, but a smart girl with good chakra control directly going into the Medic Corps isn’t abnormal. The Medic Corps work full-time at the hospital in medical teams, so I wouldn’t have to take field missions or be on a genin team. I’d still be trained, and I’d earn more than if I went into the Genin Corps. Being a medic is difficult for most ninja due to the insane chakra control required - which, thank god, I have. Being reborn apparently makes you hyper-aware of chakra, who would’ve thought.

“Especially with what I can do,” I remind Mama. Our kekkei genkai could tremendously help with medical techniques. Her eyes narrow.  

“Fumiko-chan, I know you don’t like hiding how smart you are, but remember, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” It’s odd, how Mama wants me to be trained yet remain average. Her biggest fear is being discovered and being sent to T&I, or worse, forced to fight for Konoha. Any type of scrutiny could be deadly.

“But the Medic Corps is good,” she surprisingly agrees. “Ask Papa about getting an apprenticeship tonight.” Fuck, I guess I’m really doing this. It’s terrifying, but at least I can just stay in the hospital instead of taking missions.

  
Normal four-year-olds didn’t have to worry about their future career choices and how it would affect them. I wish I was normal. This body is too young to have this much stress.

* * *

 

Mama terrifies me in a different way than Papa.

Papa is a shinobi, and that scares me. Shinobi scare me in general. They kill and kidnap children and massacre innocents and fight wars under a military dictatorship, and then they turn around and smile. I’m surrounded by assassins and murderers.

At least Papa doesn’t pretend to be something else. He regularly uses chakra, running across rooftops or healing my scraped knees with a touch. He hides parts of himself, but not what he _is._

Mama pretends to be a civilian. It works, too. Nobody has any idea, not even Papa. It’s frightening to see how Mama can fool them all. _You have my eyes_ , Mama whispers one night. _Fumiko, can you keep a secret?_

Sometimes, when she walks silently behind me or holds a kitchen knife a certain way, I see glimpses of the shinobi she used to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Don’t sleep in school, kids.

I look down at the test. It’s not hard, by any means. But the homework didn’t cover _any_ of the material. For one brief, dizzying moment, I regret not paying attention to sensei’s lectures.

I was _four years old._ Expecting a four year old to know the Daimyo’s line of succession was unreasonable, especially when the most sensei talked about politics was going over the names of the Hokages.

Fuck it. It’d be embarrassing if I did badly on this test the day after I resolved to do my best.

The rest of the questions are mildly challenging. _Name shinobi rule number four_ or _describe the applications of the plant below_ or _if a kunai is thrown at a velocity of 150 kilometers per hour at a kunai traveling at 200 kilometers per hour, when would they collide._ It takes so much energy to complete that I briefly think about just going to sleep. But if I was going to get an apprenticeship at the hospital, I’d have to do at least above average.

“That was easy!” Yakumi says confidently at lunch. The following hums of assent stun me. I knew they were bright, but if a reincarnated soul was on the same level as a bunch of eight year olds, that was just pitiful.

“I’m not sure they covered everything on the test in class,” I mumble mildly.

“How would you know? You’re always sleeping in class,” Akio teases. I glare at him. It’s true, but still.

“I’m sure you did fine,” Iroha reassures over the snickers of the others, patting me on the head. “You’re smarter than most of the class, anyway.”

“Most of the class,” Hazuki winks over exaggeratedly.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tokuma says, wrinkling his nose but holding back a grin.

“What, smile?”

“No,” Tokuma titters, “Wink like that. You look… slimy.”

“Wha- slimy?” Hazuki shrieks, lunging at Tokuma. Shibi silently moves his lunch away from them, eyebrow raised.

Iroha continues, “I will bet you six pieces of mochi ice cream you become top kunoichi. Despite their age, the girls in our class do not have the same level of intelligence as you.” It’s a horrible bet, but I take it with a grin anyway.

Sometimes, I like the Academy. It's hard not to get attached to these characters. 

* * *

“Be careful around those Uchiha boys,” my mother mutters after my friends leave the bakery. I nod, my face white.

* * *

 

I regret everything.

Here’s what I forgot:

Children are hurried through the Academy during wartime, pushed onto the battlefield, some as cannon fodder. Konoha isn’t at war against a major country right now; it’s been 18 years since the First Shinobi World War armistice. I was supposed to be safe. But.

The Second World War didn’t start from nothing. Every country was devastated in the Great War; Konohagakure was less hard hit than most, but we still lost the Nidaime and thousands of others. The Land of Fire was ravaged, but we’ve managed to regrow. We have the biggest shinobi force of the hidden villages. Our politics are relatively stable, our economy is flourishing, and we have ample resources.

The other countries, on the other hand, are still recovering, mostly by focusing on their shinobi. The Land of Wind itself is mostly desert, and many oases were destroyed or poisoned in the War. Not many merchants are willing to brave the sandstorms and deserts to trade in Sunagakure, and while Suna’s recovering, the scarcity of natural resources has made them desperate. Iwagakure, too. Their rocky terrain may protect them, but makes for terrible farming. The Land of Earth’s outskirts are more grassy, but many farms, especially along the border, were destroyed and are only now recuperating. Kumogakure’s doing fine, but the Land of Lightning’s rivers are still full of debris.

The result? Every country is trying to expand their territory. It’s a free-for-all for land. Suna and Kiri hate Iwa (To be fair, Iwa hates everyone, and everyone hates Iwa.) Iwa’s eyeing Ame and Ishigakure. Kumo’s doing the same to Shimogakure. Of the five major hidden villages, only Kirigakure’s not actively preparing for war, and that’s mostly because its lowest caste recently revolted.

Every Hidden Village feels the rising tensions. We’re pragmatists, so we start stocking up on food, money, and necessities to prepare for the upcoming war. We send out more spies. We recruit more children, even civilian ones. We train.

Better to have trained shinobi in the next war than a green academy graduate, after all.

The civvie kids are too weak to be moved up now. Better to let them grow. The clan children are protected; the clans want them to be amazing, yes, but having them graduate early and thrown into war generally leads to their deaths. Better let them train with the clan for some years.

Sensei wants me to move up several grades.  

I’m fucked. I’m so fucked. I forgot about the Second Shinobi War and I got fucked over. Fuck fuck _fuck_. I was _four_ , what the fuck. Hatake Kakashi was five when he graduated. I’m four with an adult’s soul residing in me, and _I_ didn’t feel ready to even move up a couple years. I’ve been top kunoichi for a while, yeah, and I’ve been trying harder in class, but moving up?? Hell no.

“I believe Fumiko’s planning on apprenticing to the Med Corps?” I’ve never been so glad to have Miyazaki Kaito on my side.

“Ah, that won’t be a problem!”

I’ve only had this body for four years, and I’m already looking at my death.

* * *

I’m moved up to third year. All my plans are ruined. The med corps are still on the table, maybe, but unlikely. All who reside in Konoha are expected to protect it to the best of their ability. I’m viewed as a prodigy, so I have eyes and expectations on me. Becoming a hospital medic would be viewed as, well, unpatriotic. I’d have to at least be a field medic, which is appealing, but still exponentially more dangerous than staying within Konoha’s walls. Not to mention that with my kelkar genkai, I’m more suited to going on the frontlines than staying behind in the healing tents. 

The hesitant friendships I’d made with minor, unimportant characters will be replaced with  _plot relevant characters._

I scan the room. Nara Yoshino. Inuzuka Tsume. Uchiha Fugaku and - holy shit, is that who I think it is. i’m 

My eyes narrow. White tracksuit with green stripes, blue eyes, shockingly yellow hair. It’s brighter than even Yamanaka Inoichi’s.

I’m gonna drop out. I’ll work at the bakery for the rest of my life. Fuck this kekkai genkai, fuck the upcoming war, fuck Konoha, fuck whatever put me here. I can handle being in a class full of future Clan Heads, but I draw the line at being in the same class as Namikaze fucking Minato.

Son of a _bitch._

What was it about me that attracted all the important people in Konoha? 

A class full of curious eleven-year-olds stare at me. At this point, I’ve already been labelled a genius, a four-year-old transferring into the third-year class, so there’s no point to acting cute. I’m halfway through the year already. The graduation test is open to all grades, so if I take it at the end of the year, I can go directly to the hospital. That’s the plan, anyway.

I smile at the class. Someone flinches. Of all the gestures I've managed to perfect over the years, smiling is one of the few I've failed miserably at. It never comes out quite right. 

I walk up the steps and take a seat, keenly aware of the eyes on me.

Here we go.

* * *

 

I look up from my lunch - overflowing with sweets, now that I don’t have my circle of friends to share them with - and see blue eyes staring back at me.

“Hi,” Namikaze Minato says, smiling at me.

I end up sitting with him and his circle of friends, and holy shit, he starts early. His circle includes the clan kids. He’s shockingly charismatic, with stunning blue eyes and blond hair, and he’s a goddamn prodigy; no wonder the clan kids surround him. They look at him and see the future star of their generation. Better not alienate the genius, of course.

I wonder what they see when they look at me. Past the blonde hair, violet eyes, the tiny body.

They seem nice enough, but I miss my first-year friends. Eight year olds are warm and welcoming, unhesitant to make friends and laugh. Even the clan children. Eleven year olds are more... refined.

Still, they’re kind enough to include me. That counts for something.

* * *

“Again,” Mama barks. She’s still upset I now number among Konoha’s prodigies. She's decided to start training my kekkai genkai now that we have less time than she thought.

“Again.”

I breathe deeply and open my eyes, letting Ketsuryugan-red bleed into them.

The ketsuryugan is a dojutsu of the Chinoike, she told me, who are thought to have died out in the Warring Clans Era. In reality, the Chinoike clan had been forced by the Uchiha to settle in the Land of Hot Water, in a wonderful place called the Valley of Hell. It was supposed to be impossible for them to survive, but they survived. The blood-red river they drank from terrified Yugakure, who declared them off limits, and eventually, the Chinoike faded into obscurity. Still, the grudge against the Uchiha survived.

My mother, Chinoike Ichika, had left the Valley of Hell for a better life in Konoha, resigned to being a civilian until the end. Unfortunately for her, I was born.

The ketsuryugan can do many things, but its main ability is to control liquids with high iron concentration. More specifically, blood. Coupled with its powerful genjutsu casting abilities, it’s a terrifying dojutsu for a ninja.

If a Chinoike’s chakra touches your open wound, you’re dead. If a Chinoike makes eye or skin contact, you’re dead. If a Chinoike has any blood available to them, you’re dead. Mama spoke of a ketsuryugan so powerful, it could manipulate the blood-soaked earth of a battlefield.

I can’t even control a single measly ball of blood.

I concentrate on the stream of blood hovering above my cupped hands, trying to direct it through the small hoops Mama placed. It requires concentration, chakra control, and practice. Hopefully it’ll eventually become instinctive.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

Hours later, Mama finally smiles, pleased. “Tomorrow,” she declares, “We’ll start practicing with open wounds.” I’m… not happy.

* * *

It’s just a rat, I remind myself. Rats are used for experiments all the time. Even in my old world, rats were widely used as test subjects. This rat isn’t even real, not compared to me. Its suffering is a figment of my imagination; I can’t confirm it truly exists.

I still don’t want to blow it up.

“It’s one of the easiest techniques,” Mama coaxes. You make an incision and insert poisonous chakra into it, flowing into the victim’s blood. Their eyes turn red. Then they explode.

I don’t want to make a rat explode.

But… it’s not real. None of this is real. The only thing that feels real here is pain, and becoming stronger in this world prevents that. It’s just one more stepping stone.

I close my eyes and silently apologize to the rat. Then I make a chakra scalpel.

I make sure to jump far, far away from the blast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ketsuryugan wasn't really showcased in canon besides a quick arc with sasuke, so it's not really developed. like other dojutsu, it's OP and wonderful to play around with.


	3. Chapter 3

“The clan elders want me to meet another girl,” Fugaku groans. Minato pats his shoulder sympathetically from where he’s laying on the grass.

Uchiha Fugaku, Uchiha clan head, is the man who will help plan a coup against Konoha, causing his teenage son to murder his clan. This Fugaku, the ten-year-old brother of the Uchiha clan heir, is nothing like him.“Politically indifferent,” Tsume says, snorting enviously. Unlike Tsume, who as the Inuzuka heir has to be aware of the political ramifications of everything she says or does, Fugaku doesn’t give a shit. He hates politics and avoids it at all costs. All he wants to do is be a ninja like his older brother, Hideto, and become Captain of the Konoha Military Police Force. He’s… not what I expected.

I hand another dango skewer to Yoshino, who’s leaning against Tsume again. News of how an Iwa patrol had fought Suna ninja last night on their border had filtered in. Yoshino’s always more affectionate when another skirmish occurs. She really is too smart for her own good. We all are.

We all watch as a kid tries to creep up on Kuromaru. For the civvies, it’s become a sort of game to try and touch the ninken. They really are idiots.

Luckily for them, Tsume’s nice enough to not beat them up or bring the force of the Inuzuka clan on them and ruin their career. Tsume knows Kuromaru can take care of himself.

Kuromaru lazily opens one eye. The civvie freezes. Kuromaru is huge, much taller than the child, and the combination of his size and golden eyes are enough to make the kid whimper and run the other direction. Tsume rolls her eyes.

“Do you want to visit Azumi with me later?” Minato asks.

“Who?” Azumi… It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite put a face to it.  
“She was injured earlier today during her spar against Yoshino.”

“Yeah, because she was too busy staring at you to actually dodge,” Yoshino grumbles. Minato flushes but doesn’t deny it.

So many of our classmates aren’t focused on the Academy, especially those lacking a ninja background. They grew up in peace, just like we did, but we have the advantage. Not only were we naturally born with more chakra, but we’ve been training all our lives. We’ve learned all the Academy has to offer, from how to work in four-man teams to how to properly write a mission report. Eighteen years without major conflicts is a blessing, but unlike the fangirls or the slackers, we’re keenly aware of the threat of war looming over us.

Some of the fangirls focus on and excel in kunoichi classes, but the majority spend classes staring at Minato or Fugaku’s every movement. They’re smart, of course; they have to to be in our class. But they’re training to graduate the Academy. We’re training to survive the next world war.

“Hospital, then that new Akimichi hot pot place? We can practice senbon throwing after,” Tsume suggests. I can’t help but groan. Mama has me doing enough of that at home; senbon are ideal to use to draw blood, as they’re harder to see and dodge than most weapons.  At least it’s better than taijutsu practice. I can do katas fine, but I’m still much smaller than, well, everyone. Academy spars are bad enough.

“Sure!” Minato chirps. His smile is almost blinding. It’s horrible.

* * *

 

 

I turn five. Time’s running out.

 

* * *

Papa takes me to his work, for once. I sit on his shoulders, waving at the white uniforms rushing past. They’re all extremely busy, with bloody patients quickly coming in, but it seems normal for them. I shudder when I overhear a genin explain his teammate accidentally broke his arm while sparring. It’s so nonchalant, how he talks of breaking a bone, knowing quickly it can be healed by the medics.

Well, for shinobi, anyway. Medics don’t generally have the time or chakra to heal insignificant civilians.

“This is Yakushi Nono,” my father says, “My fellow captain at the Medic Corps.” Holy shit. With the high collars of the Medical Corps uniform and the surgical mask, she looks terrifying.

There go the remnants of my dream to be a hospital medic. I’d forgotten completely about ROOT, but as a supposed prodigy, if I worked under Nono, I’d probably have to join before the war even starts.

She smiles at me. It’s horrifying.

 

That night, I tell Papa I don’t want to join the Medic Corps. He smiles and continues teaching me anyway.

* * *

The night of the graduation test, Mama pulls me aside and tells me she’s leaving soon. I think a part of me already knew. As a six-year-old ninja, I’d only draw more attention. Mama can’t afford that, especially if I’m forced to reveal my dojutsu in a fight.

The signs were there, even while I tried to ignore them. Recently, more and more of the bakery’s responsibilities were transferred to different employees. Mama had frantically been teaching me everything she knew, even hiding training scrolls for me to later use. Her will was updated, leaving everything to me. She was preparing to die.

“What about Papa?” I ask innocently. I don’t like the way Mama’s face tightens.

"Don't worry about us, Fumiko. We'll be alright."

* * *

 

We filter in one by one to the classroom, glancing around to see who passed. Yoshino looks at Minato with a raised eyebrow.

“‘The highest scores ever’, huh?”

We all turn to stare at Minato’s crimson face. It’s kind of incredible; we’re seeing a legend in the making, the future war hero, the next Hokage. His ears are completely red.

Sensei rattles off the teams, thankful to finally shove the kids on someone else. We’re not his problem anymore.

“Team Seven,” Sensei booms, “Namikaze Minato, Uchiha Fugaku, and Miyazaki Fumiko.”

What the fuck

Team Seven is the powerhouse team, sent to the frontlines where they’re needed most. The last Team Seven was taught by the Sandaime himself. I’m not the top kunoichi, Tsume is. Fugaku’s not last in the class, he’s second. We’re both widely regarded as prodigies.

Minato is, well, Minato. We’re a team of genii.

I’m going to die. Again. I'm fucking cursed. The plot follows me around, my very own Sword of Damocles.

Fugaku and Minato are elated, of course.

* * *

 

Jiraiya-sensei is boisterous and loud, but his eyes assess us carefully. He could kill me in seconds. Soon, he’ll be named part of the Legendary Sannin after facing off with Hanzo the Salamander, the goddamn _leader_ of Ame. He’s the Toad Sage, an upcoming fuunjutsu master, and will eventually be Konoha’s spymaster.

He’s also a huge pervert, but again, I’m six.

“Alright, kiddos, I am your new jounin squad leader, the Amazing Toad Sage Jiraiya! Introduce yourselves!” he exclaims.

“I’m Namikaze Minato. I like training and my friends. I don’t really dislike anything. My dream is to protect Konoha and my loved ones.” None of us really have time for hobbies besides training. It’s kind of sad.

Fugaku introduces himself as regally as ever, sitting up straight so his face isn’t hidden by the high collar of his jacket. “I am Uchiha Fugaku. I enjoy learning and training. I dislike complicated politics. My dream is to become head of the police force.”

“My name is Miyazaki Fumiko. I like training and reading. I dislike crowds. My dream is…”  I pause. To become impossibly strong? To live for as long as possible, maybe even forever? To not be a ninja? “To one day take over Haha’s bakery.”

Jiraiya smiles at us as if we hadn’t just shown our lack of any life outside of training.

“Before we officially become a team, you three have another test to pass! If you fail, you’ll be sent back to the Academy,” he says darkly. We look at him. Yeah right, like he would be allowed to fail a team of prodigies that included the brother of the Uchiha heir, especially with the rising tensions with the other countries. The Council was probably pressuring most jounin to pass their squads. Not only that, but we all graduated early. Minato and Fugaku are eleven, and I’m six. Going back to the Academy wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

“Training Ground Five at six tomorrow morning. Be late and you fail.” Jiraiya vanishes in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind an ominous cackle. We stare at the spot where he’d been.

“Wanna get some food?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

 “I’ve heard of these tests before,” I tell Minato and Fugaku over barbeque. “They’re usually meant to test the teamwork of a squad before they take missions.” Well, the bell test was. “Or to evaluate the skills of each member. Sending people back to the Academy is possible, but usually the failures go to the Genin Corps or something.”  
  
“He’s not going to fail us, though,” Minato says consideringly. “So it’s probably going to involve a performance evaluation and a teamwork exercise. We should showcase our talents in order to effectively train later.” Fugaku hums his assent.

“Battle plan?” I suggest. We scheme together. We’re obviously not going to beat Jiraiya, but we still need to do well. Even now, Minato’s especially fast. Fugaku has his sharingan, along with his Uchiha training, and he’s amazing at shurikenjutsu. I lack specialization; I’m too small to be a taijutsu threat, and my jutsu knowledge is lacking. I know some healing techniques, thanks to Papa, but of those, only chakra scalpels are offensive. Genjutsu will probably be my forte; with the ketsuryugan, I could easily focus on ninjutsu or genjutsu, but I’m still not sure if I want to reveal my dojutsu to my team. Not before Mama’s free of Konoha, at least. For Jiraiya’s test, I’ll have to focus on weapons and traps.

I hate being the weak link.


	4. Chapter 4

We go straight to C-ranks, which makes me die a little inside. The D-ranks like painting fences or delivering unimportant levels goes to the Genin Corps or genin teams lacking in teamwork. Our team’s known each other for long enough that we can apparently go to C-ranks after just a couple weeks of team training.

“A simple escort mission to Tanzaku-gai,” Jiraiya-sensei smilingly says. I probably won’t get mortally wounded with him watching me. Fingers crossed.

“Tanzaku-gai?” Fugaku shrieks. It’s a mess of a town, teeming with prostitutes and gamblers and drugs and violence. Sensei looks like his birthday’s come early. Minato’s ears slowly turn red. Still, our first journey outside of the village gates will be entirely in friendly territory. It’s the best I could’ve hoped for.

Our client, Reo, waits for us at the gate. His shock of pink hair makes me walk in front with Fugaku just so I don’t have to look at it. Minato is Jiraiya-sensei’s favorite, anyway, so he can walk with him.

Minato also gets to suffer through Reo, who somehow manages to be both extremely demanding and anxious all at once. Traveling with a civilian is slow, monotonous yet unbelievably tense.

We’re two days in when it happens. Minato’s on watch, his blue eyes luminous against his moonwashed skin. The ground is cold and hard, but I’m falling asleep anyway.

I feel Minato’s chakra flare in warning, and I get up just in time to dodge a brace of kunai sent my way.

I sense four high-ranking shinobi - their chakra stores are too large to be anything but. There’s a flash of silver, and I realize what their hitaite means. An advanced Suna team this far into Konoha could go a number of ways. Jiraiya is a whirlwind, all bristling white hair and chakra flaring so threateningly I can’t help but briefly stop.

Jiraiya is more than capable of dispatching all four shinobi. The only reason he hasn’t -

Well. Our first kill may as well be a Suna ninja in friendly territory.

The ninja are oddly slow. Sure, they’re fast, but I’m pretty sure Minato is _faster._  Maybe it' s a testament to Jiraiya's training, but there's no way the Suna nin are that incompetent - _not right now,_ I tell myself.I throw an explosive kunai at one, and he’s stunned by the blast long enough for Fugaku to flash his sharingan. It takes him only a few seconds to break the genjutsu, but it’s long enough for me to slash his throat.

Fugaku and I exchange wide-eyed glances. I feel something warm and sticky on my face. I don’t know what to do.

Minato lands on the branch beside me. The ends of his hair are a dull red, dripping softly, and there’s a smear of scarlet across his cheek. He’s eerily calm, composure unruffled even now. Behind me, I hear the dull squelch as Jiraiya removes his kunai from a body’s chest.

“Sensei,” I venture. Jiraiya’s eyes are unusually cold. He doesn’t have a hair out of place. “Why were they wearing the hitaite?” It doesn’t make sense. If you’re trying to infiltrate Konoha, one of the most idiotic things you can do is broadcast what village you’re from, unless you’re _trying_ to start another war. Besides, if us genin were able to take out half of the force, it probably wasn't Suna. 

“Tani’s the closest village,” Fugaku murmurs. Jiraiya looks darkly at us, sealing the bodies into a black scroll. “But what could they gain by having us think Suna’s attacking?”

Reo sleeps through the whole thing.

 

The next morning is strained and agitated, although if Reo notices, he doesn’t comment on it. We move in silence, not looking the others in the eye. It’s not the killing that bothers me, it’s the lack of reaction from it. Minato—sweet, kind Minato—remains unbothered.  Even Fugaku’s shock disappeared the moment we moved out. We were already desensitized from violence.

Seeing Minato's calm demeanor, even as blood ran from his hair, was a stark reminder of who he is, who he would be. He was going to be the Yondaime Hokage, the man who killed over a thousand Iwa shinobi in a single battle. Ninja would be told to flee on sight, because Namikaze Minato would surely kill them all. He's a legend in the making, and seeing him so readily kill someone is just another part of him. 

The moment we drop Reo off at his hotel, sensei disappears into the crowd. The whorehouses and the gambling dens are excellent for information, after all. Jiraiya’s title of Konoha’s spymaster isn’t widely known; no one will bat an eye to see the known pervert visit a couple of brothels.

“Move over,” Fugaku grumbles. We’re packed together on a single bed in the hotel room. It’s not really anything new, but despite our diminutive sizes, the bed is slightly too small. Minato was sandwiched between Fugaku and I. Fugaku pillows his head on Minato’s neck while I rest mine on his shoulder, both of us throwing an arm over his waist. I smile against Minato’s shirt. Minato might be unmoved at killing someone, but he's still my teammate and one of my best friends. The bed is cramped, humid, and more than a little uncomfortable, but it’s the most content I’ve been since we left Konoha’s gates.

 

When we get back, sensei tells us we're required to undergo psychiatric evaluations after our first kill. We go in alone to meet a Yamanaka with glittery green nails that match his eyes.

“I heard you had your first kill on your latest mission,” he says gently. I smile at him. My feet don’t even touch the floor when I sit down. “How does that make you feel?”

“I’m okay,” I trill. I am. Their deaths didn’t count; after all, they weren’t really _people. “_ We were defending our client.”

He raises an eyebrow. I’m declared fit for duty.

 

I hug my parents farewell as they leave for the famous Cherry Blossom festival at the capital. I press my face into Papa’s neck as if I can make him stay through pure willpower. Mama tucks my hair behind my ear and presses her forehead to mine. We’ve already said our goodbyes. _Look in the closet,_  she’d told me.

Outside of the gate, Papa turns around and waves, Mama beside him. The genin team escorting them roll their eyes. I smile back.

Three days later, I show up to training with a black armband.

“They were attacked,” I say, voice muffled against Minato’s chest. “Probably bandits that got lucky. The bodies of Papa, the genin team, and their sensei were recovered.” _Mama’s wasn’t_ goes unsaid. My team draws their own conclusions for what a group of bandits would want with a beautiful woman. I know better.

Papa’s the only one who died quickly, a sharp cut to his throat. The others’ bodies had to be identified with their dog tags.

It’s not a big deal. Mama and Papa’s names are on a tombstone together. The funeral is beautifully bittersweet, full of friends and coworkers and employees. Papa’s family and genin team died in the last war, anyway. The funeral lasts for all of an hour before everybody had to get back to work. There are always more shinobi to heal, more treats to sell.

It’s my fault for getting too attached to them. They weren’t even my real parents. They weren’t even real.

  
Minato hugs me anyway.


End file.
